The Parts I Do Not Understand

I do not have autism. I am not autistic. But my son is.

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I do not have autism. I am not autistic. But my son is.

Being his mom in no way makes me expert. But I do my best. I try so hard to be the best mom I can possibly be to him.

Autism feels confusing to me a lot of the times. I believe we live in a black and white world for the most part. And my son lives in color. Blues and reds and yellows and greens.

We, his dad and I, have navigated autism for ten years now. We are long past the sting of the diagnosis. There is no shock anymore. We embrace the color he brings into our lives. But there is still confusion at times.

There are many parts of him that I do not understand. And then there are the parts that I so desperately want to be a part of.

I want to be a member of his secret club. I want to be invited in.

Like when he turns his ear to the wind and laughs as if someone is telling him an amazing joke. Or when he lies down in our yard and stares up at the sky. He will point to things I cannot see. And I wish, just for a second that I could see them too.

He studies raindrops and snowflakes and the bumps on the branch of a tree. I swear he can see the individual flecks of sand at the beach.

His world is different than mine.

I cannot see what he sees. But I believe it must be breathtaking.

I’ve learned that the world is too much a lot of the times for Cooper. When he struggles, I often do not know why. I just have to believe him.

Too loud. Too bright. Too smelly. Too chaotic.

And the wind and the clouds and the raindrops and the snowflakes are his peace. Grounding himself with nature.

So, when we are the park, and he decides to take a break to go sit by himself, I give him all the space and time that he needs.

I’m not next to him, but I know he is feeling the tiny stones that have gathered on the cement. I know soon he will touch his cheek to the cool metal of the picnic table and sign.

And when he’s ready, he will return.

He may climb the jungle gym again. Or he may sign ‘all done.’ Or even point to home.

I don’t always understand autism. There are days when I feel like I am playing a game where I haven’t been given the rules.

For years I fought the parts I did not understand. No more though. I just remind myself that I have an expert leading me through.

My book, Forever Boy: A Mother’s Memoir of Autism and Finding Joy is available to order HERE.

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